In the Secret Hours
by IndecisivelyPersistent
Summary: VashxWolfwood. Shonen-ai oneshot. Wolfwood's thoughts as he struggles to get through another night of lonliness.     WARNING! SPOILERS! You have been warned.    *disclaimer* I don't own Trigun, I just mercilessly play with the character's emotions.


3 am. It was finally quiet. The last of the drunks had left the bar with women or stumbled stupidly up the stairs to their rooms to sleep it off. This was the part of the evening Wolfwood dreaded the most. It was also the moment he spent all day waiting for. He thought of nothing else, aching, willing time to drag by faster. He cursed and tried to think about anything else. He shouldn't, no he _couldn't_ have these feelings. He had other things he needed to be thinking about. But no matter how hard Wolfwood tried, he always ended up thinking about _him_. It was on nights like this that he was especially glad when they had enough money for all four of the travelling companions to rent separate rooms for the night. He stared at the ceiling in frustration, feeling a thousand conflicting emotions pass across his face, and was glad for the darkness. He was a lone wolf. He was cold, calculating. He was an assassin, for god's sake. And he was supposed to aid in the assassination of Vash himself. His stomach turned painfully at the thought as an image of the blonde's cheerful smile and sad eyes floated, unbidden, across his consciousness. He couldn't lie to himself any more, at least not to that extent. He could never intentionally cause harm to such a pure soul. _Vash really is no more than a child at heart_, he thought, _and I've made it my mission in life to protect the innocent ones. _ Yes, that was it. He cared about Vash as he cared for the children in the orphanage. He was just a helpless naïve fool. _Damn you, Legato. I won't do it. I don't care about the consequences. _But no matter how hard he tried to believe it, Wolfwood knew that was not the only reason he felt so strongly about the blonde man. He rose and sat upright on the edge of the bed, lighting a cigarette. Sighing, he watched the smoke curl towards the ceiling, waiting for the sweet kick of nicotine to calm his nerves.

Twenty minutes had passed, the last glowing embers of the cigarette long cooled. Weary and agitated, Wolfwood glanced at the clock ticking restlessly on the wall. He couldn't fight it anymore. Hating himself, he stood, bare feet cold against the hard floor. He crept quietly to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. He knew which room Vash would be in, and walked towards it as if compelled by an invisible force. Every step was agony; every step was an opportunity to turn around. But the girls wouldn't know. No one would know. No one could _ever_ know. Night after night, something drew him towards Vash. He didn't know what it was about the man that captivated him so. Maybe it was his childlike and simplistic view of the world. Wolfwood desperately wished he could believe that right and wrong could be as black and white as Vash said they were. If not for his own sake, then to let Vash know that one other person on this planet believed in his mission, was on his side. Maybe it was Vash's body, scarred from his self-imposed duty to protect humanity from itself, that Wolfwood wanted to touch, to soothe. Maybe it was Vash's sad smile, and a secret longing hope that maybe, he, Wolfwood, could replace it with a moment or two of genuine happiness.

But he knew, as he reached for the door handle, that none of his excuses held true. He did want to heal Vash, to help him and comfort him. But Vash was strong. It was Wolfwood that needed caring for. That's why he came, night after night, imposing his needy love. It was a burden, a secret, one more obligation crying for Vash's attention. And Vash never turned him away. Wolfwood wondered sometimes if Vash truly loved him back, or if he was merely fulfilling another's needs without complaint, as was his way. He hesitated, hating himself for asking Vash to give of himself yet again, for being so weak. He wished he was stronger, so he could stop himself, just once, from burdening his beloved.

"Nicholas?" a quiet voice came from within.

Wolfwood cursed silently. The creaking door must have woken him. It was too late now. Half relieved, half disgusted with himself, he pushed the door fully open. Vash was sitting up in bed, his pale hair haphazard in the moonlight, shivering under a thin blanket.

"I've been waiting. I was afraid you wouldn't come. I was lonely."

A surge of indescribable emotion passed over Wolfwood. Vash's voice was plaintive, wanting. It was the voice of a lover waiting to be held.

"I'll always come," Wolfwood answered, as he deftly closed the door and slipped beneath the blanket to warm his companion.


End file.
